Things You Don't Know
by SakuraGirl25
Summary: It is inevitable to uncovers secrets about a person when you live with them. Max quickly learns this about Steve. SLASH
1. Surprise, Surprise

**AN: This is just a little set of drabbles that I decided to write. Steve seems so hardcore on the show but I started thinking. When you stay with someone for a while—you know after the novelty wears off and both have gotten comfortable—you start to learn things you would not have learned if you didn't live with them. And that inspired me to write this set of drabbles.**

**Warnings: Male/Male sex.**

**Disclaimer: I wish it was mine. *Looks at genie expectantly*. Nope it won't even be mine even if I wished it.**

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**Surprise, Surprise**

Max had learned many things from a year of being with Steve McGarrett. He'd learned that for his diamond tough exterior, his lethality, and commanding presence Steve had a chink in that armor. This discovery Max had discovered upon pure chance. They had been in the middle of foreplay when it happened.

Max kissed his way down Steve's sculpted abdomen, licking over the salty skin. He dipped his tongue into the navel. Quick eyes saw the hands desperately clenching the sheets. He knew Steve wanted him to go lower and wrap his mouth around the erect penis pressing insistently against his clavicle. Unfortunately, Max did have a wicked streak in him.

He feathered his fingers over Steve's belly, surprised when the muscles jumped and his partner made an odd sound. He stopped and raised his eyes to the brunet inquisitively. What just happened?

He heard Steve curse before sitting up and repeating the action, coffee eyes locked with blue. He saw the restrained smile and the chuckle that wanted to burst forth. Then it dawned on him. Steve was ticklish. Steve was ticklish? Well wasn't this an advantageous discovery.

Undoubtedly seeing the spark in his eyes Steve spoke, "don't ruin the mood babe."

"But you're ticklish."

"And you snore."

Max's brow knitted. What? He snored? Well this was unexpected information. "I snore?"

Steve sat up and gave him a reassuring caress. "It's not the 'get some Breathe Right strips or this relationship is fucking over' snore. It's cute like SpongeBob's."

Max pouted, seeing the flicker of need spiraling in his mate's eyes. "How do you know about SpongeBob Squarepants?" He regarded him quizzically, seeing the impatience in Steve's body language.

"Watched it with Gracie."

"I suppose his snoring is cute. But it is still difficult to believe you are ticklish."

Steve bit his lip. "Are you going to give me a blowjob or not?"

Max blinked at him with at deadpan face. "Not." He found it oddly amusing when Steve gaped at him like he'd told him he thought surfing was for the birds. He only gave a secret smirk and grabbed the lubricant, prepping himself quickly—he was not about to let Steve do it after he refused to give him oral sex, the man could be damn vengeful. He gasped each time his fingers brushed against his prostate, keeping his eyes latched on Steve who seemed transfixed on his hand.

"Max," he moaned huskily, eyes darkening with lust.

He pressed their mouths together and gently lay them down. Somewhere a vague thought came to him that he should wash his hands later. He grabbed one of the condoms on the nightstand. A keen left him when Steve kneaded the globes of his ass.

He slithered down Steve's body, straddling his hips. He stroked the engorged cock, wiping the pearly beads dripping from it with his thumb. "I will not perform fellatio on you, but…" He unwrapped the condom. "…I will ride you like a bronco that's needs taming." Shut up, he'd read it in a romance novel during his weeks of extensive research.

The groan that Steve emitted caused his own aching cock to twitch with want. He put on his sexiest face and began to roll the condom down Steve's rigid cock. Slowly.

A shudder snaked its way through Steve's entire body. "Fuck you're so sexy baby."

He finished applying the condom and positioned himself over Steve's penis. Biting his lip he eased down onto the swollen member, gasping upon penetration. Plucking up his nerve he sat down, taking him completely in one go.

He cried out, hearing Steve simultaneous growl, when expected pain lanced up his spine. What had possessed him to do something so stupid? The hands sliding soothingly up his sides lulled him and soon he began to adjust.

Briefly he stared at the man splayed beneath him. Hungry eyes flicked over the flushed cheeks, dilated pupils, plump pink lips then down over the sculpted body adoring the rosy hue covering most of his flesh and finding the contrast of their skin tones fascinating. Never had he seen such a beautifully wanton sight. And it was for him. It still amazed him that Steve could want him in this way.

A well aimed thrust wakened him to his current position.

"You gonna ride me or stare at me?"

Max rolled his eyes and grasped Steve's nipples twisting the pebbled nub mercilessly before deciding to concede to his lover's desires.

Max collapsed onto his love, fireworks still dancing in his vision from the intensity of his ecstasy. His mind was a pleasant haze, barely able to register when Steve flipped them and continued to plough into him with sharp earnest thrusts until he too fell over the precipice. When he came to and his heart and breathing were regulated he indulged himself in sweet kisses from his lover.

"Fuck Max."

Max nodded, looking up at him with drowsy eyes. "Mmmm." He frowned when Steve withdrew his flaccid member, hearing the used condom hit the trashcan a moment later. He nestled into Steve's side, whining when the warmth abruptly withdrew.

After he was clean Steve pulled the covers over them and they snuggled close face-to-face. Max felt his heart dance over the teeth of a piano when those piercing aquamarine orbs speared him with intense love. He smiled sleepily, closing his eyes when Steve petted his hair.

"You know…"

Max grinned up at him with half-lidded eyes. "I know and me too." He couldn't help a chuckle at the outlandish fact of the super SEAL as many called him being ticklish. "You're ticklish."

"Screw you SpongeBob."

"Squidward." He tilted his head to the side, thinking. "You are aware that it would be impossible for a squid and sea sponge to mate considering that sea sponges are stationary and their DNA is incompatible."

Steve gazed at Max with a strange expression on his face. "Come on Max."

Max grew quiet, basking in the buzz of his afterglow. He hid his face behind Steve's shoulder using it as a shield against the sun filtering into the room. His fingers twitched and he bit his lip in an effort to resist the urge. He ran his fingers up Steve's belly in a soft tickle.

Steve squirmed and gave another muffled laugh. "You're gonna have a lot of fun with this aren't you?"

Max gazed up at him a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Yes."

**END**

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**I couldn't resist writing this. The thought of Steve being ticklish cracked me up for some reason. I hope you enjoyed and if you do Read and Review.**

**Later tater ^-***


	2. Sticks and Stones

**AN: Ummm…yeah. Enjoy.**

**Warnings: None really.**

**Disclaimer: This is really bumming me out. I know it's not mine but I can dream can't I?**

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**Sticks and Stones**

Max had only learned this next secret after having been with the commander for quite a stretch of time. Steve was a master at concealing his deeper emotions. If you were fortunate enough to see a display of deeper emotions believe it was only at Steve's whim. You see Steve's core was vigilantly guarded. If one managed to navigate the landmines there was a fortress behind a 12 foot tall barbwire fence, a sniper perched on the ramparts guarding that, and a 100 foot climb over the castle's walls.

The only way to get in was solely by permission. Max considered himself lucky. He'd learned to read the nuances of Steve because of the depth of their relationship, which was why he'd learned this special tidbit. The words of his friends carried more weight than Steve let on, especially if negative.

So Max knew that something was wrong when he'd been patching his love's arms. Steve was abnormally quiet. He finished swabbing the wound clean, checking to see if it warranted stitches. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Steve answered in that way that told Max something was most definitely wrong.

"Steve…" he started.

"Max."

Max knew that tone. That was Steve's 'I don't want to talk about it so back off' tone. The M.E. grew silent and went about his task. Sometimes he forgot that Steve was like a wild animal. Try to force him to open up and he'd lash out, but if he waited eventually he'd come of his own accord.

He heard Steve kick the door shut, both of their arms laden with groceries. He walked into the kitchen, craning his neck to see over the bags, and set them on the counter. He started unpacking the bags, disquieted by Steve's silence. "How do chicken po' boys sound?"

"Good."

Max stood on his tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the brunet's cheek. "We have not used the leopard print handcuffs. Do you want to tonight? I'll let you pick whatever position you want." The spark of hunger in his love's eyes made his knees weak.

"You bet."

Dinner came and went, 9:30 pm finding Max sitting on the couch—he could forego Pilates for one night—watching _Fringe_. He smiled down at the brunet when he lay his head in his lap. He stroked Steve's hair absently waiting.

Steve made a sigh of resignation. "Do you think I disregard people's feelings by abandoning them?"

He knew the event to which Steve referred. "I was upset when you went to North Korea, but that was a different matter." He ghosted his fingers over Steve's lips. "But no, I don't and that is my objective opinion."

Steve was unconvinced. "But I went to Japan for two weeks and then after you got shot I visited you for a few minutes before going back. Didn't you feel abandoned?"

Max put the television on mute, giving the conversation his full focus. "Steve. You're always thinking about others first. Always. Like the instance when you dangled that man over the side of the building or when you blew up that shopkeeper's door with a grenade."

"This is going somewhere right?"

Max gave a patient sigh. He really loved Steve but sometimes… "The point I am trying to make is that the cases we take are more than numbers to you, to all of Five-0 actually. You don't just seek justice because the criminal did a bad thing but for the victim's family as well. Japan was you considering yourself for a change. Wo Fat took your parents from you and quite honestly I would have been more concerned had you not pursued him."

"So you don't think I disregard other people's feelings?"

"Although you are insufferably stubborn at times, you are reckless with your life, never anyone else's."

Steve fell into a brief silence before sitting upright. "Thanks babe."

The unguarded emotions swimming unbidden in Steve's eyes humbled him. The amount of trust that he bestowed upon him spoke volumes for the depth of their bond. Steve did _NOT_ trust easily. "You are welcome." Even the strongest hero needed assurance.

He shivered when Steve captured his bottom lip between his teeth tugging lightly before releasing it to tease it with his tongue. "Mmm." He felt his cock twitch at the unbridled libidinous glint directed his way.

"So…in any position I want?"

Max gulped at the wicked gleam sparkling in his love's eyes. What had he gotten himself into?

**END**


	3. Starlight

**AN: This is the second to the last chapter you guys. Enjoy. I figure despite being a hard ass there has to be a tiny romantic bone beneath all that BAMF demeanor.**

**Warnings: None really just Steve being Steve.**

**Disclaimer: No.**

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**Starlight**

Max wiped his eyes tiredly. It had been a difficult work week. Four cases in one week and of course Steve pushed them with a demanding pace until they were nearly at their limit. He yawned, blinking to keep the words from running together. He'd hardly seen Steve all week—enough to have a heated argument of course.

So sleepy. He lay his head on his desk with the intention of resting his tired eyes. He fell dead asleep. Perhaps he would have slept all night –and awakened with a massive crook in his neck—had the sensation of fingers drumming up his spine not drawn him from his nap.

He purred softly. "That feels nice."

"Babe wake up."

Max opened his eyes and sat up, glancing down at his unfinished report. "My report."

"Finish it later. You look like hell."

Max blinked up at his lover before nodding. "Okay." He rose tilting his head to the side when he caught the secretive glint in his love's eyes. "What are you planning?"

Without a word Steve led him to the truck. After arriving home he washed the dishes he hadn't had time for that morning. He would have ordered dinner and flopped on the couch for sleep had Steve not appeared next to him. He jumped when the man slapped his butt.

"Go bathe, I'll get dinner."

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Max exited the bathroom, towel around his waist. He noticed the outfit on the bed and the note that simply stated: Put this on. Curious he donned the garments and made his way to the kitchen. "Steve?" There was a note on the refrigerator. 'Go outside' it said with an arrow pointing towards the front door.

He exited their home, seeing Steve standing next to it with that same secretive smile. He raised an eyebrow, appreciating how utterly delicious the man looked in his outfit.

"Get in."

Max, accepting that for now he would get no answer, climbed into the truck. "Where are we going?" He asked, itching with impatient curiosity.

Steve continued to throw him that cat-ate-the-canary grin. "You'll see."

Max sighed somewhat sulkily. What was Steve up to? Usually when Steve became secretive things could either turn really good or _really_ bad. Soon Steve parked the truck and he found that they were at the beach. "Steve?" He turned, taking the picnic basket his love shoved into his hand. They were having a picnic. Steve McGarrett had planned a picnic for them? That was it, Hawaii was going to get a foot of snow this winter.

Steve shouldered the beach towel and throw. "Come on." He took Max's hand and led him down the beach to a spot just out of reach of the tide. He unrolled the immense beach towel and lay it on the sand before relieving Max of the basket and gestured for him to sit.

Max sat, heart fluttering erratically at the romanticism of the situation. "What is the occasion?" He asked, observing as Steve lay out the contents which were a mix of some of Max's favorite dishes: tempura asparagus, chicken primavera, and apple pie.

Steve shrugged casually. "I don't know."

Max chuckled at Steve's answer. Typical Steve.

"I guess another day I didn't screw this up." How he managed to plant a kiss on his mouth while pouring bourbon was beyond Max.

"Then we should both celebrate." He took the bourbon, knocking back the drink savoring its bite on the way down. He would have started his dinner with dessert had his health nut partner not glowered at him.

They shared dinner beneath the stars with the calming voice of the ocean in the background. The couple chatted idly about random topics. There was even a debate about Indiana Jones versus Han Solo.

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Max nestled close when Steve wrapped the covering around them gaze leaving the ocean to study the man next to him. It was ridiculous how much he loved Steve, but it was one thing he refused to remedy. When he recalled his relationship with Marco—and the emotional torment—he wondered what cosmic deity decided to gift him with Steve.

He curled closer. "You surprise me. I did not know you were such a romantic." He felt his heart stutter when mesmerizing aquamarine depths impaled him. The resultant soft smile made him almost sigh. God Steve was turning him into a lovesick fool.

"Shhh. It's not something I advertise. It would be bad for the image I've created," he joked lightly.

Max planted a kiss on Steve's mouth, moaning when he further joined them. God he loved kisses. "Steve," he breathed. He felt Steve smile against his mouth gasping when teeth nibbled at his bottom lip. Steve tasted of bourbon and apple pie. Delicious.

He closed his eyes, reveling in the calloused fingers caressing the features of his face before landing on his cheek. Steve disliked speaking about his tender emotions, but when he shed his thick guard his demonstrative eyes swam with feelings he was wary to articulate.

"Babe."

Max pressed their foreheads together nodding in understanding. Another soft kiss and Steve's attention returned to the ocean. He lay his head on Steve's shoulder and enjoyed the silence. He had just begun to doze when his lover stood abruptly.

Brown eyes observed the taller man quietly. Steve shed his shirt, his pants, sandals… No. No, Steve was not going to do it.

He pulled off his underwear.

He was. Max's brain of course short-circuited at the sight of Steve in his naked glory. Heat pooled in the pit of his belly and he swallowed to wet his dry throat.

"You coming?"

A dirty little answer to that question popped into his mind before he smothered it. "No."

"Why?"

Trying not to look at his mate's genitalia when he turned to give him a good view—Max was sure the butt-head did it on purpose—he bit his lip. "It is a possibility that we could get caught."

"That's the fun of it babe."

Steve shot him that special 'look' the one that promised life-changing sex. Well… No it was too risky.

"Suit yourself."

He watched Steve run, eyes glued to the muscles flexing in that perfect ass, and then dive into the ocean, disappearing beneath its glossy surface. He stood concerned when he didn't resurface after a certain stretch of time. "Steve?"

Steve emerged a few yards out. "Come on in."

Max sighed, knowing that they would never leave if he didn't get it over with. He shed every garment except his underwear. Once in the water he swam to his lover, who seemed right at home in the gently lapping sea. He encircled his arms around Steve as if he were a living buoy. The commander might was well be half-fish.

"Max." He tilted his chin up with a finger, a hand going to soaking coal black hair. "I didn't say it a moment ago, and I know I sure as hell don't say it enough. But I want you to know I love you ainee."

Max nodded seriously answering in kind. Steve, though he would never admit it in a million years was a spontaneous romantic. And despite his hard-nosed attitude he could be at times sweet and endearing.

Steve leaned down, eyes filled with lascivious intent. "I have lube in my pants pocket."

Max sighed wearily. Then again…

**END**

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**Awww I really liked this little diddy. Read and Review please.**

**Later tater ^-*  
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	4. Charolette & Garfield

**AN: I decided to put chapters four and five together. So, this is the next to the last chapter of this fic.**

**Warnings: Humor?**

**Disclaimer: No I do not own it.**

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**Charlotte and Garfield**

Max discovered that Steve was fearless. He would jump into the lion's den head first without batting an eye. But, Steve had a chink in his armor and it had eight legs. This odd tidbit he found out on a case.

Max followed behind Danny as they crept through the dank, dusty home. The house had been abandoned for years, but there had been recent reports of activity and someone spotted a person transporting what appeared to be a body bag into the home. So they'd been called and here he was following the team down the hall of a home that looked like it was straight out of a horror movie.

He did not like dark places…with cobwebs.

"Fuck," he heard Steve—who had point—gripe.

"What's the matter?" Chin ho whispered urgently.

"I think I just walked through a spider web."

"What are you arachnophoic? Keep going," Danny stated, holding his flashlight up to illuminate the hallway.

"Shut up Danny."

Max sighed. How long was this hallway?

When they finally entered the living area Steve silently gestured for the team to fan out and check for hidden suspects. Max went about his business, shock piercing him when he perceived the fully dressed cadavers inhabiting the dimly lit room.

"What kind of sick bastard dresses dead bodies?" Danny asked, disgust lining his tone.

As he examined the severely decomposed corpses he glanced at Steve, who loomed over him like a sentry. He noticed the fleeting instances where he kept running his hands over his hair, as if checking for something. The spider perhaps?

"There is not much information on these bodies now. They are severely decomposed but I am sure a thorough examination will yield some findings." Sharp eyes detected the spider crawling up Steve's shoulder in the dim light. But before he could react, Danny knocked it away.

"You had a spider on you."

"Oh."

They found a total of eight bodies in the house, each fully dressed. It was going to be a long week.

Max sat in the large tub, in his lover's arms. Steve sucked on his earlobe while whispering naughty things into it. He sighed shakily, jumping slightly when a dexterous hand found his cock beneath the water. He bit back a moan when he squeezed him, the back of his head hitting Steve's shoulder.

Half-lidded eyes glanced up, watching the spider descending from the ceiling on a gossamer strand of silk. "Oh, we have an interloper."

"What?"

He felt Steve go rigid, then: "Did the bastard follow me home?"

The spider plopped into the water and began to swim. Interesting. His lover—mood forgotten—did not find it intriguing in the least.

"Shit the fucker can swim."

He ducked when Steve abruptly climbed out of the tub, nearly hitting him with his foot, causing the water to slosh violently. Coffee brown eyes observed as Steve used a cup to skim the water and capture the vagrant arachnid, only to release it and squish it a second later with hatred etching his features.

Steve unplugged the drain and soon Max found himself sitting in an empty tub. He looked to Steve with a bland expression. "You suffered a spider bite as a child didn't you?"

Steve turned on the water and began refilling the tub. "Not going there Max."

* * *

There was also another member of the animal kingdom Steve abhorred and it had four legs, a furry hide, and caught mice. He found it quite strange, but then again who was he to talk?

Max sat on the couch petting the beautiful white Siberian cat cuddling into his lap. He remembered the cat Erwin owned—Max's mother was allergic to them. He always found cats quite intriguing. They were fiercely dependent and lived by their own rules.

He heard the door open. Steve had gone surfing with Danny this morning. Max had opted to stay home and chat online with his cousin—who he firmly believed harbored a crush on his boyfriend.

"Hey babe, you should have seen the waves they were-. What is that in your lap?"

Max raised his eyes to his lover. The brown-haired man stood in the entrance to the room, a strange expression claiming his features. "Steve it's a cat. Her name is Orchid."

"Why is it here, in our house, sitting in your lap?"

He noticed that Steve had not moved from his spot. "Miss Kapule is going on vacation tomorrow and inquired if we could care for Orchid."

"Hell no."

"Why?" He cuddled the cat, seeing the former Navy SEAL squirm at the action.

"Because… Tell her to take it to a kennel. That's what they're around for." He gave them a wide berth before going into the kitchen.

Max rose and followed him, trailed by the cat. "But that would be unnecessary money."

He poured himself a cup of blueberry juice. "Then tell her to get someone else. That thing is not staying here."

Max rolled his eyes. "Anato," he pleaded.

Steve nearly caved at that word. "No Max."

They stared each other down neither willing to compromise. Steve looked down with narrowed eyes. Max followed his gaze seeing the cat rub against Steve's leg, purring.

"She likes you."

Steve jumped away as if bitten a creeped out expression on his face. "Max I'm serious," he stated looking as if he was seconds from kicking the feline through the roof.

Max rolled his eyes. Steve was a mix of contradictions. He had removed a snake from their tent on that ill-fated camping trip and he was afraid of a cat. "Geez I'll go get the carrier."

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They sat in Max's car, Orchid in the backseat. "So what happened to make you afraid of cats?"

"First off I'm not afraid of cats. I don't like them, there's a difference. And I don't like them because they're unnatural." They passed a series of houses.

"They are part of the animal kingdom and thus must be natural," he intoned with a slight surly bite.

"That's not the point Max."

"Then what is?"

He stopped the car in the driveway, grumbling to himself.

Max exited the car and retrieved the cat along with her luggage, starting towards the door. He rang the doorbell, greeting the woman with a kind face. "I apologize Miss Kapule but I am unable to keep Orchid for you."

"Oh. Why?" The gray-haired woman asked, ignoring the five cats that crowded around her legs.

"Steve doesn't like cats."

The middle-aged woman giggled cheerily. "So that's why he stayed outside that time he mowed my loan. It's okay honey." She patted him and asked him to stay put before disappearing and returning with a plate of cookies. "Take these."

Max almost snatched them. Miss Kapule's coffee peanut cookies were delicious. "Mahalo."

She grinned. "Don't worry I'll get Gloria to keep them."

Max climbed into the car, already munching on a cookie. "So…are you going to tell me?"

Steve heaved a sigh and threw the car in reverse, backing out into the road. After they were cruising down the road he spoke, "when I was around six we lived next to an old lady named Miss Pennyworth. And she had this huge cat named Socrates but I called him Lucifer. That cat was fucking evil."

"It would sit on the fence and swipe at me when I passed on my way to the bus stop. Then he would chase me into the house when I returned from school. If I played in the yard it would sit there and just-just stare at me without blinking the whole time."

He took the curve easily, passing their house. "You passed our home."

"I thought we could take lunch out today." He tapped his finger on the steering wheel. "Anyway that damn cat made my life hell. Funny thing was he would be an angel with the rest of my family. So no one believed me when I said the bastard attacked me unprovoked."

"So one day I was out playing in the yard and Socrates was absent. Then I saw him dart into the street. Out of nowhere came this car and mowed that sucker down. So, I'm celebrating you now. That devil cat was dead. He lay in that street all day and night; hell I even poked him with a stick before I went to bed. He was dead as a hammer. So the next day I go out to play and guess what?"

"What?" Max asked intrigued with the story.

"The son of a bitch was sitting on the fence unscathed. Staring at me with those evil eyes.

Deep furrows lined Max's brow when he looked at Steve. "That is impossible."

"I know what I saw."

"You were a child Steve. Cat's don't have nine lives."

"Well how did he survive? He went under the damn wheel! And he had the same collar. How do you explain that shit?"

Max opened his mouth to supply a perfectly rational argument, but none came to mind. "Interesting."

"You mean creepy."

Max couldn't help but imagine a six year-old Steve running into his house screaming ghost cat at the top of his lungs. A smirk graced his lips. Priceless.

"Max if you laugh I swear to god…" He parked the car on the curb outside of a local eatery.

"I'm afraid of grasshoppers and dragonflies." He leaned over to kiss Steve's cheek.

"Oddball," he said with fondness lacing his tone.

Max gave a tiny smile of affection. "I know." They both chuckled before climbing out of the car.

**END**

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**Perhaps this seems absurd but to me it is not. I have an uncle who has a black belt in martial arts, worked in construction, and is now a deputy sheriff. He's tough, but he's scared to death of cats—this actually happened to him except he baked the cat in the oven and the same cat was in the tree outside his window that night. Funny shit.**


	5. Awry

**A.N.**

**This chapter gave me all nine levels of hell. For some reason it did not want to be written. However I did manage and I hope it isn't crap. **

**Warnings: Language**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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**Awry**

Max loved Steve. No he would not deny it. He was unreservedly and irrevocably in love with the hard-nosed commander even if he was periodically insufferable or downright curmudgeonly if wakened before 6:30 pm. Even if the man did exhibit low level traits of psychoses and would resort to physical force to get what he wanted—like that time he blew that shopkeeper's door open with a grenade—he still loved him.

Despite the aforementioned traits he always seemed to forget one thing: that Steve was a dangerous man. Of course he was quite acquainted with his extensive close combat training—the day he tried to surprise his love and found himself face down on the floor a foot pressed down on the back of his neck and his arm twisted painfully was an adequate lesson. Still though, the fact still escaped him. Yes he was aware that Steve was a former Navy SEAL praised by both his predecessors and his peers. Yes he detected the way he moved like coiled springs tensed beneath a curtain of fluidity. He fully grasped all of the above truths he just didn't seem to know how deadly the commander was.

He supposed loving and being loved by Steve often concealed it. Seeing the softer side of the usually stoic man more was also a factor. He didn't witness SEAL Steve in action like the rest of Five-0 did in the field. But, he should have watched the evidence, because on their second camping trip his realization was shockingly sudden.

Max glowered at the man who had just finished consuming a handful of granola he'd stolen from the bowl. Seriously? Sometimes he wondered why Steve didn't come with a warning label.

"What?" He asked innocently, eyeing the bowl that was currently being fiercely protected by his lover.

"I saw you."

"I know."

Max stared blankly at the unrepentant commander. He held up the large wooden spoon warningly. "This is your portion," he pointed to the smaller helping of homemade granola, "so do not complain to me if you don't have enough."

Steve's eyes glinted slyly. "Of what? Your sweet little ass or the granola? Because I'll never get enough of the former."

Max grabbed a Zip-loc bag, an eyebrow raised at the other man. "You are merely trying to get into my pants."

"Is it working?"

Max sighed, shivering when a hand caressed the nape of his neck. "Perhaps." He turned and popped the button on Steve's jeans.

* * *

Max let a soft cry escape his slips, his body snapping taut, velvet heat clenching around his love's stiff cock before his vision erupted into fireworks. In the throes of ecstasy he registered Steve's erratic thrusts and staccato breathing ghosting against his cheek before he too followed him to paradise.

They lay within their tent, skin embracing as they rode out the crests of bliss. Max allowed Steve to indulge himself with loving pecks showered over his face, enjoying the sensation of simple intimacy. After he was sorted, he watched with inquisitive eyes as his partner shimmied into his boxers. "Where are you going?"

Steve unzipped the tent flap and crawled out, carrying his pants with him. "Well, as much as I'd like to screw you until you can't walk…" He donned his pants zipping then buttoning them. "...again."

Max gave a roll of his eyes.

"I've got a fire to build." He tugged his shirt on before stepping into his durable boots. "You have the knife I gave you?"

Max held up the large field knife, a 'precautionary gift' from his beloved. Honestly what would he really do with a knife this size? He was not Crocodile Dundee.

"I'll let you know when I return." He leaned over to press a kiss to his love's sweet mouth. "And put some clothes on," he said with a teasing spark in his eyes.

Max bid Steve farewell and closed the flap, donning his boxers before laying down to rest. He actually did not mean to fall asleep but the oppressive heat had a soporific affect on him. By the time he returned to wakefulness it was dusk and the crickets lent their voices to the forest's nightly chorus. He wriggled into his pants, pulled on his shirt, and unzipped the tent flap before poking his head out.

Steve sat in front of a merrily crackling fire stirring what appeared to be a pot of stew. "Evening babe."

Max returned the greeting before crawling out of the tent pants leg getting caught on what he called the zipper of doom. He glowered at the evil zipper that held onto his pants before yanking it free, lips pulled into a pout at the wicked object. A noise from Steve caught his attention and looked over to the man staring him with hungry eyes.

"Keep making that face and the stew will get cold."

Max disregarded his lover and stood, stretching like a well-rested tabby cat. "Is this a camping excursion or honeymoon? Because you seem to have the urge to copulate like we're on one." The peculiar expression that fluttered over Steve's handsome face spiked his curiosity. "Steve?"

"Do you want crackers with your stew?" He rifled around in his bag and retrieved a pack of Ritz crackers.

Max nodded and plopped next to him, taking the proffered bowl of steaming stew, gaze fixed on the taller man. "Steve?"

"Babe you have to be married to go on a honeymoon."

"But we're not."

Steve swallowed a mouthful of the savory dish. "Exactly." He answered before resuming his dinner.

Max swallowed the delectable goodness flooding his complex palate, enjoying the mixture of spices and texture. "This stew is quite delicious." He couldn't help but stare at the way the firelight danced over the other males' beautiful face highlighting his features with a golden glow.

"I know my stew is the shit so don't look so surprised."

Max stared at his love vacantly. "You are one of a kind Steve McGarrett."

He nudged him with an elbow. "I know. It's part of my charm."

They spent the rest of dinner in an easy silence. Steve made sure the fire was burning strongly and their food was safe before retiring to bed. Max closed his eyes, settling into his lover's secure embrace before drifting into rest.

* * *

Max wiped his brow as he wandered the forest looking for a suitable space to relieve himself.

"Don't wander too far." Steve's voice drifted to him.

After finding a preferable spot he relieved his bladder, rifling through his pack for cleansing wipes once done. He retraced his path, frowning when he walked through a cloud of angry gnats. Why did he let Steve talk him into this confounded camping trip? It wasn't like it would be any different than the previous one. He was hot, sticky, sporting several itching bug bites, and…apparently lost. He gazed around at the lush vegetation surrounding him with bemused eyes. By the Force why did he always manage to get lost!

"Steve? Steve!" He called, nervousness beginning to spear him. "Steve!"

"Max?"

"Where are you?"

"Follow my voice."

Max followed his love's voice, fighting his way through the hungry bugs after his blood. Soon he entered a clearing finding Steve looking over the map. Why did he not have the map? Because he didn't want to be here in the first place and Steve was acting strange about being the navigator.

They walked for hours it seemed like both stopping to hydrate at random intervals. The duo shared a laugh at the hilarious events that unfolded Tuesday. Chin should have known better than betting with Danny.

"Freeze motherfuckers." A man appeared pointing a double-barreled shotgun at them.

Max stopped, eyes widening slightly. Was he cursed? The change in Steve's mood was nearly palpable.

Steve held his hands up damning his inattentiveness. "We're not looking for any trouble," he stated calmly.

The man advanced on them, gun held levelly on Steve. "What the fuck are ya doin' here then?" Shifty brown eyes darted to Max before settling back on Steve. "You cops?" He asked in a Southern accent.

Steve stepped in front of Max, maintaining his even tone. "We're just on a camping vacation."

He continued to advance, gun aimed at Steve's head. "Are you cops?"

Max swallowed at the situation knowing that it could easily turn into a disaster. "We don't care about whatever you're protecting. All we want is to continue on our way. That's it."

"Are. You. Cops?" He growled, stepped maybe an arm's length away.

Max barely registered what transpired next. He detected Steve's movement one second and the following second the commander was pointing the shotgun at the man. He felt somewhat embarrassed that despite the tense situation he found heat blooming in his belly for his lover.

"Now, who the hell are you?"

The man, though utterly surprised at the gun now aimed at him managed to rediscover his moxie. "Fuck you I ain't tellin' you shit."

"Obviously you're not out here holding random passersby at gunpoint for kicks. So, what are you hiding?" He tightened his grip on the gun.

"I ain't tellin' you and that Chink nothin'!" He spat on the ground a sneer aimed at Max.

Steve's expression turned to stone at the racial slur thrown at Max. With a swift movement he clubbed the man over the head with the butt of the gun.

Max stepped from behind his lover and squatted over the man, looking him over and checking his pulse. "What do you believe he's hiding out here?"

The snap of a twig sounded through the verdant forest and Steve turned, gun trained on a cluster of trees. He didn't voice his concerns but he had a feeling they'd inadvertently stumbled into deep shit.

Six men appeared, five of which who had the business end of their firearms pointed at the commander. "Well what have we got here?" A local with a scraggly beard, asked. Max assumed he was the leader because he was the only one not pointing a gun.

Steve swept them in a single glance, holding his ground. "Like I told your boy…" He nodded to the unconscious man at his feet. "We're just out camping."

"Thus the knapsacks," Max chimed in, eyes fluttering over to check his partner's intended actions.

All eyes shifted to the Asian man before the leader addressed Steve. "I see the knapsacks but I also see the shotgun you obviously took from Diaz and the Beretta M9 holstered to you side."

Steve kept his focus, unwilling to give any ground despite the odds. "You never know what kind of animals you'll meet in the wild. Case in point." He jerked his head, indicating his reference to the current situation.

The man smiled darkly. "Drop you weapon."

Steve shook his head, grip tightening on the gun. "Nah. Tell your boys to drop theirs and I'll consider it."

Max wondered if Steve remembered that he was not alone. Getting shot full of holes was not on his to-do list. "Steve, perhaps you should do as he says."

"Listen to your friend here. You may not care about getting shot but I doubt he would like it if Duke put a bullet between his eyes," the man stated politely, though his eyes glinted maliciously.

Steve sent the man a death glare for good measure but dropped the shotgun and his own weapon. He shot Max an apologetic look.

"Good. Now my name is Kekepi and as of now you two are my guests," he stated with a disarming smile. He looked to his men. "Blindfold them." His eyes fell to the unconscious man on the ground before flicking up to Steve contemplatively. "Make sure to bind his hands." He pointed to Steve.

Steve struggled against the men when they fell upon him, ropes in their hands. He managed to get his hands free of one of his would-be captors and deliver a hard left cross to the man that struck Max, giving a satisfied smile when he heard the bones of his nose crack. Harsh curses filled his ears before something blunt collided with this head and he plummeted into the black.

"Steve!" Max cried his partner's name worriedly, casting a glare of hatred at the man that had hit him. The men bound Steve then him, the one hulking man flinging Steve over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

* * *

Max awkwardly approached his unconscious lover, who the animals had bound to a sturdy post in the filthy room in which they were imprisoned, on his knees. He held up his bound wrists and allowed deft fingers to flutter over the back of his lover's head, searching for the lump. He found a small one that warranted no alarm, although Steve would have a mean headache upon wakening. With difficulty he pressed his lips to the unconscious man's neck, feeling the steady throb kiss his mouth. There was no blood, alarming lump, and his pulse was strong. Steve was basically unscathed. He couldn't say the same for himself.

Max flicked his tongue over his split and swollen bottom lip, tasting the dried blood. He may dislike violence but he would _not_ wilt when some disgusting degenerate fondled him. He blinked his aching eye—Steve was going to spit bullets when he saw it—wishing the lens of his spectacles weren't cracked. He sat back on his haunches, scowling at the grimy floorboards, and decided to occupy himself by counting the seconds. He was up to 346 when the other man stirred.

Steve's eyes snapped open, his first action to sweep his surroundings and test his physical state. Waning sunlight filtered through the broken window of the small dusty room. He was bound with expertly knotted rope around a sturdy post. All in all he'd escaped worse.

His gaze fell to Max who was staring at him with scrutinizing eyes. He scanned Max's face eyes instantly transfixing on the nasty bruise surrounding Max's left eye, his cracked glasses, and the swollen condition of his split bloodied lip. Anger burned black through him blazing through his system like wildfire. Those fucking bastards. They would pay. He inhaled deeply to force back the growl sitting at the back of his throat. "What happened?"

"One of them decided that he had the privilege to fondle me without my permission." He scooted closer to his fuming lover, leaning over to cuddle with him, needing to feel safe.

"Sonofabitch."

Max nestled closer looking up at the clearly enraged man with wicked eyes. "Do not worry though; he did not come out unscathed either."

"Nice." Steve could hardly wait to get his hands on the pinhead that touched his Max. After calming down he allowed himself a momentary respite to enjoy the closeness of the man curled close. "They took everything."

Max nodded in affirmation. "The man you bludgeoned, Diaz I believe, was especially happy to filch your knife and sidearm." He squinted through the cracks in his spectacles, licking his chapped lips.

Steve leaned over and pressed a tender kiss to that strawberry mouth, playing his tongue gently over the wound affecting the bottom lip. Fuck it. The thug was going to eat fucking dirt if he had his way. But for now he had to think about escape. Night was maybe 30 minutes away and they needed its cover to flee. He turned his right boot side-to-side feeling the weight of his tactical lockback knife against his ankle.

"Max," he called the doctor who was scanning their surroundings as if he expected some creature to pounce on them.

"Hm?"

He nodded to his right boot.

Max looked down at the boot mentally smacking himself. How could he forget about the knife Steve kept concealed in his boot? However retrieving the weapon would not be easy in his bound state. He sat upon his knees again, willing the tingling to subside, and managed to wriggle his way to the boot. It took all of ten minutes to unlace Steve's—who helped him as much as able—boot, retrieve the closed knife, re-lace the shoes, and tie them. He scooted his way back to his bound lover and after several tries managed to toss the knife up and over so the other could catch it.

"Thanks babe."

He nodded and watched with critical eyes as Steve's muscles bunched with exertion his face one of focus.

The sound of approaching voices reached their ears. Alarm unfurled within him as the raucous laughter intensified as the men neared. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to Steve's cheek before pressing their foreheads together.

"Everything will be okay love," he whispered against Max's lips.

Max knew there was a possibility things would turn out the opposite path, but he believed Steve. "I know." He scooted away just as the door opened, maintaining a strategic distance.

Two men swaggered in, shutting and latching the door.

Max recognized both men. One of them was Diaz the other Chopper—the one that had grabbed his butt. Did their boss give them the order to kill them?

Steve observed the duo detecting every nuance stacked in his favor. The air about them was not charged with cold malice nor were their eyes flinty. Instead, their faces were split with wicked smirks, the one on the right eyes gleamed with what was obviously lust. They were not here to kill them. The slight shuffle of their stride, the waver to their stance, and the slurring words of their greeting told him one thing. They were both drunk, not shitfaced drunk, but intoxicated nonetheless.

Diaz swaggered to the former SEAL leaning down until their faces were level. "Not so big now are ya? Tied up and such."

Stale whiskey weaved with the pungent odor of onions accosted his nostrils. But he remained silent, because there was no need for unwanted attention.

"What's a matter? Cat got yer tongue?" He gave a derisive smile showing yellow teeth. "Ya scared now that ya ain't got a gun? Scared I'll beat yer ass? Huh cop?"

Steve kept his visage impassive, blue eyes like steel. The resultant backhand he received from the man rattled his teeth and sent his head snapping to the left. He didn't utter a sound, returning his gaze to the jackass.

"Oh," he grinned nastily, "tough guy huh? Betcha one of them military types." He straightened and scanned Steve with sharp eyes, arms folding over his sweat-stained shirt. "Yeah… ya look like it. Prolly one of them tough sumbitches like Special Forces or somethin'. Which one? The Marines or Green Berets like Rambo?"

He maintained his silence.

He cracked another grin. "Yeah you're fucking Rambo." He chuckled at his own 'intelligence' before leaning down and drawing Steve's field knife. "How'd it feel to be all you could be?"

Steve barely reacted when the sharp blade of the knife tickled down his cheek and neck before tracing along the arch of his Adam's apple. He flinched and bit the inside of his jaw when the sadist yanked the knife along his shoulder, creating a deep gash.

Max, who was bucking against the man trying to subdue him stopped when he saw the blood staining Steve's shirt. "Steve!" Unfortunately his brief inaction allowed the man to get a better handle on him. "Get away!"

Steve's attention shifted to Max. Fury screamed though his mind at the sight of the bastard's hands descending between his beloved's legs. Homicidal intentions streaked through him like lightning bolts. The promise of murder bled through his eyes before he knew it and when his attention reverted to Diaz his mistake had already been made.

Diaz cut his eyes to Max grinning much like a cat that had gotten into the cream. He straightened and walked to the center of the room. "Well Chopper looks like ya were right. These two are boyfriends. Which one 'o' them ya think top?" He looked from Max to Steve before grinning at the commander. "Bet it's you, ya look like the type."

Chopper came to stand next to his companion panting slightly. "I don't know man. I heard a lot of them tough soldier boys like riding dick."

They both chuckled heartily, Chopper revealing the reason for his moniker-rather large front teeth.

Neither caught the silent exchange between their captives. Steve gave his beloved a soothing gaze while Max returned it with one full of understanding. He knew their attention had to be glued to him for their escape to be possible. Unfortunately, keeping their attention would not be fun.

"Ya know what? After the boss kills Rambo here I'm gonna ask him can we keep yer little one for a houseboy."

Chopper seemed delighted at the idea. "Hell yes. You'd do that for me man?" He looked at the man with touched eyes, shaking the obviously higher-up criminal's hand gratefully.

"Yeah. He can cook, clean, and ya get to fuck him like a little whore whenever ya want." His attention flipped to Max, enjoying the ill-concealed fear burning in brown eyes.

Steve bit his lips at the blue streak of colorful threats fighting to exit his mouth. Max was no fool and the little dork—god bless him—knew their escape depended on his freedom. He was affording him the chance he needed at the cost of himself. A fierce spire of love blazed through him at the thought.

"Ya see Chin, Chopper here likes cute little Asians. Don't ya?"

Chopper ran his pierced tongue over his lips, managing to make the simple gesture downright vulgar. "Fuck yeah."

"Ya had one as yer bitch once didn't ya?"

"Yeah." A lecherous expression laced his features and he blatantly leered at the bound man scowling up at him. "Man could shame a porn star when it came to giving head."

Steve did not like the looks in their eyes. The lurid gazes enraged and struck fear in him. Deep down he knew their intentions were to rape Max with him as an eyewitness. He desperately wanted to saw through the ropes like a madman, but too much movement would be detrimental. The sadistic bastards would probably beat Max to punish him.

Chopper continued to leer at Max, despite the defiant look in dark brown eyes. "You good at sucking cock?"

Diaz chuckled maliciously a hand roughly fisting through Max's hair. "You've got fire in you. I like that." He turned his attention to Steve. "Hey lover boy yer little bitch any good at sucking dick?" He grinned when he heard Chopper chuckle.

Steve instantly stopped his movements. His heart rate was up homicidal urges fed by his wrath. His senses screamed at him, demanding him to restrain his instincts, to fulfill his objections, get free, and fuck those bastards up.

Diaz sneered at the promise of death radiating in aquamarine eyes. "I'd take that as a yes but he's so pissy right now. So why don't ya test him out."

Chopper seemed to almost bounce in excitement. "Can I fuck him afterwards?" He patted the obvious bulge in his cargo pants.

"Shit yeah. Me and you both are gonna fuck him two ways from Sunday then…" He twirled Steve's large knife in his right hand. "After the show I'm gonna carve our names in his ass cheeks. You know to let everyone know who he belongs to."

Dread filled Max and despite his incapacitated state he began to scoot away. No. He would not allow these men to violate him. So he swung his arms wildly, wriggling and trying to bite any appendage that came too near.

Chopper growled at the smaller man struggling violently against him. He grabbed Max's hair and dragged him across the floor closer to Diaz. "Be still dammit!"

Diaz rolled his eyes. "Jeebus Chop get 'im in line. He's gonna be yer bitch soon."

A vicious punch to the face stunned the smaller man. He set Max on his knees and began undoing his pants.

"About gol'damn time." He stepped a few feet away to give his younger companion room and to watch the free show.

Relief sang through Steve when the bonds dropped away and he was on his feet in seconds. Employing ingrained stealth he approached Diaz noiselessly lockback knife gripped in a hand. He grabbed Diaz from behind stabbing the knife just beneath his shoulder blade piercing the lung. The next second the knife was jerked out and thrust mercilessly into his solar plexus. He discarded the gravely wounded man like last week's newspaper.

Chopper sensing the commotion pushed Max to the ground and drew his gun, pointing it at Steve. "D-Diaz?" He glared at Steve. "What did you do to him?"

Max fell to his back, gathered his knees to his chest and kicked out, pushing the man's feet from beneath him.

A shot rang forth.

Max watched with wide eyes as Steve fell upon the man pounding his fists into the man's face before breaking his neck with the flick of a wrist. The expression on his lover's face was unfamiliar, causing a chill to run through him. "Um…" For once he was actually speechless.

"I figure we've got about ten minutes before to others come running." He made short work of Max's bonds and began scouring the men's bodies for useful objects. He salvaged two handguns, their pilfered knives, a flashlight, a lighter, machete, three-fourths of a bottle of tequila, and compass. "When did you have water last?" He tucked the guns away on his person.

"A few hours."

"Food?" He helped Max to his feet.

"Since lunch."

Steve took the information in stride, including them in his own calculations. He broke the window out, disregarding the initial pain. "Come on."

Max gracelessly climbed out of the window, managing to not fall flat on his face. Steve followed him, landing on his feet. The commander had hardly had earth beneath his feet when he grabbed Max's hand, clutching it in a tight grip. They fled to the sound of enraged cruses.

"What the hell happened to Diaz!"

"Sonofabitch they're running!"

Adrenaline hammered inside Max when gunshots resounded through the night air. He swallowed willing his legs to move faster, his stride stretched to its limit. He did not know how long they ran—minutes or hours—all that flooded him was the primal need to flee from their murderous pursuers. They dashed through the dense jungle with little heed to their physical safety. Max focused his mind on the hand clutching his and not falling over the terrain.

Soon, he felt the efforts of their flight. The muscles in his legs burned from overuse, his breathing came out in labored puffs, and his heart thundered in his ears. He couldn't keep up this brutal pace, not when he was basically running on fumes from his depleted reserves. Exhaustion sank its teeth into him and soon he was struggling just to stay upright. Steve—the damned weirdo—hardly showed any signs of wear. He had to stop going or he was going to pass out.

"Steve. Steve!"

"What?"

"I can't… I can't go anymore."

Steve stopped, much to the relief of Max, still clutching the smaller hand in his. He gave a short nod, agreeing to Max's much needed breather.

Max fell flat on his backside—well he would have if Steve hadn't caught him to ease his descent. Max rested his head against the tree and panted, gathering his senses while trying to regulate his breathing and hummingbird heart rate. He observed Steve through the distorted vision of his eyeglasses.

Steve scanned their surroundings briefly before squatting on the ground. He lay the shirt out the pilfered objects and began cataloging their supplies, mumbling to himself. Despite the darkness shrouding them he could still see the commander's cogs turning; listing the possible uses for each item. He inspected the magazines of the firearms two of which were from their captors, brow furrowing. "Some of these have been fired but we've got 28 rounds in all." The familiar click of the magazine being inserted into the receiver reminded him of the events that unfolded in that squalid little room.

"Are those two dead?" He knew the answer to his question but he needed to hear it from Steve.

Steve began separating their supplies by function. "The one that touched you? Yeah. Diaz? He's got at least 30 minutes before both his lungs fail." He shoved one gun in his holster, the others snugly in the back waistband.

The answer itself did not surprise Max—he was a doctor after all—it was the delivery. Steve's voice was emotionless focused on his current task as if their deaths had no bearing on the world. He'd seen Steve shoot a person before but never had he witnessed him killing a man with his bare hands. It gave him…pause. "I see."

He finished sorting the gear handing Max a knife, flashlight, and rope.

Max's sharp eyes fell to the laceration marring Steve's shoulder. "Your wound needs to be cleansed and dressed."

Steve used the dirty shirt—taken off Chopper's back—as a makeshift pack. "We need to get moving."

"Your wound needs to be cleansed and dressed," he reiterated before standing.

"Max, we need to put enough distance between us and them. Safety takes priority."

He canted his head. "So your risking infection has nothing to do with safety?"

Steve's gaze shifted over Max's shoulder, listening and searching for any indication of pursuers. He knew that tone of voice. "You're my priority babe." He gently caressed the line of Max's jaw. The stern glare Max directed his way almost made him cringe. "When I feel like we're far enough I'll let you, but right now we need to go."

Satisfied for now, he relented. "Can we least walk?"

"Quickly."

Max heaved a sigh, blushing when Steve pulled him in for a comforting hug, giving his forehead a peck. He followed his beloved, ignoring the ravenous hunger in his belly.

* * *

Steve winced at the acrid sting of tequila flowing over the slash lacerating his shoulder like liquid fire. He took some consolation that Max's touch remained light and gentle.

"It needs to be stitched. When we find water I will boil the fishing line for sterilization. For now I will dress it."

Steve gave a nod, fists clenching as the alcohol continued to sting within the raw flesh of the wound. "Max, about those guys back there-."

He pressed the kerchief—take that Steve for making fun of him—to the wound before ripping off a portion of his shirt to bind it. "I understand."

"Max."

Max put a hand on either side of Steve's face and pressed their foreheads together. "I understand." Hmm, Steve's eyes almost took a silver hue in the moonlight.

"Love you."

He carded slender fingers through brunet strands, holding onto his love like a lifeline. He had been captured by a serial killer and shot before but never hunted like an animal. "Love you too."

Steve drew away, trying not to act a little embarrassed by the sentimental moment. "Hungry?"

"Very."

"Help me build a shelter and we'll get food."

By the time Steve finished building the lean-to, Max finished finding and using palm fronds for bedding, and a fire was built the doctor was exhausted. Max sat down on their bedding and yawned. Darn he was beat.

"You'll be okay here alone?"

He studied the other man with intuitive eyes. From his stance to the expression on his face everything spoke of weariness. "I would rather you lay here and rest."

"I'm fine."

Max rolled his eyes. Typical Steve McGarrett answer. "Anato…" He looked up at his SEAL through his eyelashes and reached up, managing to look like a pleading puppy.

Steve despite his best efforts, crumbled and lay next to him, making sure Max lay in the more favorable spot. He turned on his back eyes on the trees above. "Damn."

Max who had curled into his beloved's side like a kitten seeking warmth opened his droopy eyes. "Hm?" He threw an arm possessively around Steve's waist, snuggling closer.

"This makes our second bad camping trip."

"If I believed in nonsense I would say that I'm cursed at least in the camping department. For I have never been on an enjoyable one even in my childhood."

"So this is all your fault?"

Max caught the playful edge in Steve's undertones. He thumped Steve's belly. "Jerk," he gave a smile before stretching against the man next to him. "Besides did I not suggest we do something else? Like whitewater rafting?"

Steve looked down at him clearly shocked that his lover would ever willingly do such an activity. "Who the hell are you? Because Max Bergman would never want to go whitewater rafting."

Max looked at his mate with a deadpan face. "Max Bergman would rather not get shot at."

Steve's eyes glinted with amusement. "It's not so bad once you get used to it."

"I knew I should have signed you up for that therapy session," he drawled lightly.

Steve gave a bark of laughter. "Go to sleep Max. I'll watch over you."

"Try to rest."

He gave a short nod.

"Really," he stressed.

"I will."

* * *

Max awakened with a jerk instantly feeling the ache in his legs. The first thing he noticed was the empty bed of palm fronds next to him, the dying fire, and ominously cloudy near morning sky. He decided to search for fruit. There had to be guava or even coconut trees nearby. He stood and with a new resolve, left camp.

He didn't wander far however, not wanting to happen upon their pursuers. He wiped the sweat from his brow. He'd found a guava tree and after collecting its fruit he moved on to the next tree. Then like a gift of divine mercy he happened upon a coconut tree. He remembered reading the multiple uses for coconuts in the wild. But how was he supposed to get up there? He was no Tarzan.

"There you are."

He nearly jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice of his lover. He whirled around coffee depths wide. "Please stop that," he deadpanned.

Steve chuckled, looking up at the coconuts clustered at the tree's crown. "Good job baby."

Steve managed to climb the tree to Max's amusement—Tarzan indeed—and retrieve a few. After returning to camp they consumed their breakfast hurriedly: guava, two handfuls of macadamia nuts, and breadfruit. Max mimicked Steve in cracking his coconut, consuming its water and flavorful meat.

He watched curiously as Steve destroyed their camp, making sure to leave no trace of their stay. Afterwards he followed his lover to the lake, gazing at the waterfall feeding into its crystal surface. He couldn't help but stare at Steve's perfect ass as he crouched over the bank of the lake.

With a slight blush he poured some of the water Steve had stored in an unused condom into a coconut shell. After boiling the nylon fishing line in the shell he used the hook as a needle.

Steve swallowed a bit nervously. There was no anesthesia which meant this would hurt like hell.

Max gave his mouth a peck. "Ready?"

He nodded a silent yes.

The entire ordeal was painful—an understatement—for both parties. Each time Steve flinched from the needles insertion Max wanted to quit the torture. He felt like a villain, torturing his beloved by stitching the gash with nothing to deaden the wound. When it was finally over he examined his handiwork. The stitches were crude but they would hold.

He looked up at his commander with contrite eyes, before nuzzling his cheek gently.

The bay of a hound resounded in the distance.

"Shit." Steve rose so quickly he nearly knocked Max over. "We need to go." After everything was hastily gathered and hidden they fled.

Max followed Steve at a jog, struggling to keep up with the pace the other man set. He noticed that Steve led him through rougher terrain than what they'd skirted Thursday. He also noted that if Steve had not been ahead of him he would be unaware of his presence; the man's footfalls made no sound. Max swatted at the mosquitoes chasing him, but other than that remained silent.

No matter how fast they fled the sound of barking dogs remained in earshot, seeming to gain on them at one point. He took Steve's hand, trying not to stumble over fallen branches and the treacherous land. They stopped to rest in short bursts only after long spans of time, taking only the time afforded them to hydrate and rest their feet.

* * *

It was after the sun had traveled a third of its journey when they stopped last. His eyebrows furrowed in inquiry when Steve withdrew the map. "What are you doing?"

He didn't reply, unfolding the map. "Come here."

Max obeyed and knelt next to the brunet.

"We're here." He pointed to a spot on the map. "The truck is here about 15 miles from this spot."

Max, already guessing Steve's intention shook his head. "No."

"Come on Max."

"I'm not leaving you," he stated stubbornly.

"Max please."

Max stepped away shaking his head vehemently. "I'm not going to desert you."

He rose to look the man in the eye. "Max listen to me. I need you to get to the truck and call Danny and tell him what's happening."

Max folded his arms, refusing to leave Steve. "No."

"Max!" He barked, grasping his shoulders and to give him a good shake. "I need you to do this for me. Max I _need_ you to do this baby."

"But-." What if Steve died? What if they managed to severely injure him and he was not there to aid him? He chewed his bottom lip anxiously.

"I'll be fine babe. You know I will." He rested his hands against Max's cheek, caressing the curve of his jaw with the sides of his thumbs. "I'll be fine love. I need you to do this for me."

"Okay." He crushed his lips to Steve's in a bruising kiss, telegraphing every ounce of the fierce love he felt for the other male through the gesture. Drawing away, he licked his lips memorizing the sweet taste of Steve's mouth.

"I'll double back and distract them."

"At the risk of sounding moronic: If you die I'll kill you."

"Love you."

"Love you too."

* * *

Max didn't know how many hours he navigated the dense forest. But by the time he was too tired to continue it was night. He sat down and leaned against the tree taking a sip of the vanishing water in his hollowed coconut. His breath came in pants, his feet aching from extensive use. Even his boots seemed confining. And don't mention the fact that he was starting to smell ripe. Sighing he drew his knees to his chest, feeling the weight of the gun resting against his back and the dagger at his side.

Steve consumed his thoughts. Closing his eyes, he prayed for his lover's safety. "Keep him safe, please." Steve was his everything and if he lost him… He pushed the thought and the images that accompanied it away. He would not think that way. Steve was trained for these situations right? A yawn escaped him and he stretched tired muscles.

After consuming another handful of nuts he closed his eyes and gradually fell into slumber.

He jerked to awareness, a rustling in the bushes having startled him. Quietly he rose, hand going to the gun, and backed away until he hid behind the tree. Soon, a small mammal appeared, cautiously crossing the glade before disappearing into a thicket. Breathing a sigh of relief he swallowed to wet his parched throat and restarted his trek.

* * *

Night had fled and the sky began to lighten by the time the truck came into view. He jogged to the vehicle and stopped abruptly upon realization of a startling fact. He didn't have the keys. By the Force why did everything have to be so complicated? He pressed his face against the glass, remembering that he'd placed their cell phones in the glove compartment. How in the hell would he open the locked doors? Then a thought hit him. He glanced down at the coconut strung to his side then the passenger side window. Now under normal circumstances he would have _**never**_ considered such an unwise idea—Steve loved his truck and a pissed Steve was _not_ fun. But these were extenuating circumstances, so the former SEAL would just have to suck it up and understand.

He untied the coconut and drained it of its contents before gripping it in his hand. Gritting his teeth, he struck the window with all of his strength. The glass shattered, shards raining upon the leather seats. Ignoring the wailing alarm he unlatched the door and climbed into the truck.

Hesitating only a moment to clear the seat of glass he retrieved his cell phone. Silent pleas filled him when he activated the device. Please, please, please. A picture of Steve filled his monitor, causing an ache in his heart. _Please be okay_. He glanced to the battery indicator. It was only at 10 percent tops. Enough for one phone call. He dialed Danny's number frantically, waiting anxiously as the phone rang.

"Hello?" Came the sleepy reply.

Max breathed a sigh of relief, but knew he had not time to spare. He got straight to the point telling him of his location and an extremely abridged version of what had transpired.

"I'll call the others and we'll be on our way."

He lay back and pulled off his boots then the worn socks, seeing the blisters that had been aching for quite a few hours. Gently he massaged his feet, groaning at the sensation. Finished with his foot massage he waited for their back up. Though his body clamored for sleep his rambling anxiety-filled mind refused its pleas. Thoughts of his Steve burned through every synapse of his brain.

At first it frightened him to know that Steve could and would kill a man with his bare hands if the circumstances warranted it. The calmly methodical manner in which he'd salvaged items from the corpses had sent ice through his veins. But…what did he expect? Steve had been a Navy SEAL—one of the best. The man had permission to kill people on missions he could neither confirm nor deny. They were thrust into a dangerous situation and Steve had automatically shifted into combat mode. The situation didn't suddenly change Steve into some sort of stranger; it was just another less revealed facet of his personality.

The M.E. shut the door to the truck and greeted his fellow team mates. Each were fully armed and attired in a bulletproof vest. "Geez Max you look like hell."

Max shot Danny a smoldering glare. Detective Williams should really see about fixing his brain-to-mouth filter because sometimes…

The blond smiled sheepishly when Kono elbowed his side. "You want Kono to take you home?"

He shot another glare to Danny, this one particularly nasty. "Bring him back."

Chin ho nodded, looking like a character from a Quentin Tarantino movie with his rifle thrown over his shoulder nonchalantly. "We will."

It was afternoon by the time they returned with Steve holding a thoroughly beaten Kekepi at gunpoint. He'd embraced his beloved, examining him for injuries. Aside from torn stitches he was relatively unharmed. He was informed that the men had been protecting two acres of marijuana from prying eyes and Kekepi was the only survivor. After shoving the cuffed and limping local into the bed of the truck they finally headed back to civilization.

* * *

Max cut the light in the adjoining bathroom and strode to the bed in nothing more than boxers. He climbed atop the man lounging in the bed, noticing his brow furrowed with deep thought. He laid his head over the brunet's heart, allowing him this interval of silence. His eyes closed on their own when strong dexterous hand began petting his slightly damp hair. The gentle caresses soothed him so that he had almost dozed when the other man spoke.

"We need to talk about what happened in that shed."

Max sat up, locking eyes with his commander. "Are you still the same man I fell in love with?"

"Yes."

He pressed a peck to his love's full mouth. "Then I need no explanation." The resultant happiness that shone in Steve's eyes caressed his heart and before he knew it they were sharing a sweet, sensuously tender kiss.

Steve broke the contact, hand resting upon back of his neck. "Max."

"Yes."

"Good night babe."

He smiled softly, flopping down on him. "Good night." He rolled onto the mattress and fell into rest within the circle of his beloved commander's arms.

**FIN**.

* * *

**WHOOT! I finished it. If you enjoy this drop me a line or two or three.  
**

**Ciao ^-*  
**

**Whew. Glad that's over**.


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